Someone Like You
by The Human Kite
Summary: Stan and Kyle didn't grow up together, didn't spend their childhood going on crazy adventures. They didn't even live in the same state. But distance can't keep apart two people destined to be together.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** - I wanted to do something really different (by my own standards anyway, I'm sure something similar has been done before), because I have this problem writing Stan and Kyle and making them not touch each other constantly. So in a way this kind of started out as a way to keep them from doing that, and it went from being a long one-shot into another attempt at a multi-chapter. But this time I actually intend to finish what I start, because I know exactly where this one is going. I'll try to update as often as I can, but classes are starting up again next week, so I'll be really busy. But I'll try my best.

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><p>Kyle shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at the clock. The second hand seems to be moving extra slowly, as if it has some kind of personal vendetta against him, like it wants him to be stuck in this stuffy classroom for as long as possible. It's only a few weeks into September, but Kyle has already had enough of his classes, enough of all the people, enough of everything. He thinks it's because it's his last year before high school, and he's restless, because there's a part of him that actually believes high school will be better somehow. It's a stupid thing to think, because he'll still be surrounded by the same people, just in a different building, but he's going to believe it until he's proven otherwise. That's the only way he can see himself surviving this year.<p>

There's only ten minutes until he's free to go, and he has no idea what the teacher is talking about anymore, but it's not like it really matters. South Park isn't exactly big enough to provide advanced classes – a waste of minimal funding, probably, because the classes would only consist of him and maybe, terrifyingly, Cartman. But that also meant that Kyle's middle school experience was pretty much a breeze, passing all of his classes without any major stress.

That didn't mean he didn't spend hours studying every day, but it was more leisurely, a hobby almost, something to fill his abundant free time. Between that and his computer, Kyle can almost pretend that he has a life, something to look forward to each day. Right now, all he's looking forward to is getting home, throwing on his pajamas, and plopping his ass in front of his computer to go back to his RPG.

He'd just discovered it a little over a month ago, the not-so-cleverly titled _RPG: The RPG_, and it had rapidly taken over his life. There was really nothing overly special about it, nothing that sets it apart from other online fads he'd been a part of – just the same concept with different graphics and different monsters. But just like the others, it was inexplicably addictive, and lately all Kyle could think about was getting on and leveling his character, a mage he'd named Shee'vah for lack of anything better, and trying to save up enough gold to buy her the newly released glowing armor. It wasn't that much stronger than regular armor, didn't really do anything all that special, but it _glowed_, and Kyle had spent an embarrassing amount of time fantasizing about how cool his character would look running around in that, how everyone would be in absolute awe, tripping over themselves for the chance to talk to him.

It probably won't be that way at all; by the time he can finally afford it, it'll be old news. Kyle's smart enough to know that, but it's still fun to think about, and it gives him something to strive for. Something to take his mind off the fact that he has nothing better to do than waste his life on the internet.

When the bell finally rings it actually catches him off guard, and he jumps a little at the sudden noise. The classroom is suddenly a blur of motion, everyone throwing things into their backpacks and rushing out the door, eager to get started on whatever excitement the weekend had in store for them, maybe one last camping trip before the cold really settles in. Whatever. Kyle doesn't exactly care. After years of never being invited, the jealousy all but vanishes.

He packs up with a little less enthusiasm, making sure his books are sitting neatly in his backpack, no pages bent, before he zips it up and slides it over his shoulders, where it rests snugly against back. He supposes he's not cool enough to loosen the straps enough to let it dangle over his ass – he tried it once, but the constant smacking of hard, weighty textbooks against his thighs wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world. Maybe the only people popular enough to pull off the look without bruising their legs had too much of a social life to do their homework, and they carry home empty backpacks every day. It's the only explanation Kyle has been able to come up with.

He makes his way down the hall, sidestepping the lingering clusters of people – girls, mostly – chatting away, as if they hadn't had all day to do so, as if they'd never be able to again. It's just the weekend, and it'll end all too soon, then they'll all be back here, trapped together whether they like it or not.

But for now, it's such a relief pushing his way out the double doors, being outside with the knowledge that he doesn't have to return for two full days. Of course, the weekend will go by way too fast, no matter how Kyle tries to manage his time, because the internet has the ability to make hours go by like seconds. And he'll be back here before he fully has a chance to appreciate his freedom, and he'll fight through the next week by looking forward to the weekend, and the cycle will start all over again.

He's just about to get on the bus when someone grabs his backpack and tugs, hard, nearly making him fall right on his ass. He staggers and flails his arms, barely managing to catch himself on the folded door of the bus, and he's still in the process of turning around when he yells, "Fuck off, fatass!" It's Cartman, it's always Cartman, and he's standing there with arms folded over his massive chest, smiling darkly. Rage flares up inside of Kyle, white hot and deadly, and the flicker of nervousness in Cartman's eyes only makes the anger that much sweeter.

"Step aside, Jew," Cartman says coolly, as if he's not afraid Kyle will punch his teeth out again. It happened once before – they always got in fights, and those fights often turned physical, but last year Kyle had managed to clock him right in the mouth. He'd only gotten suspended for it, luckily, sent home with a stern warning that he wouldn't get off so easy next time, but being such a good student and a first time offender (which was bullshit; he was just good at not getting caught), he was allowed a little leniency. Even so, he thought his mom would never stop lecturing him, never unground him, but it had all been worth it for the knowledge that Cartman was missing his two front teeth. That had been fixed by now, unfortunately, and Kyle doesn't want to know how many dentists Cartman's mom had to fuck to erase all traces of the damage.

But still, whatever reputation Kyle'd had was permanently ruined, because somehow losing his temper every now and then was some kind of fucking crime. Or maybe, while he'd been suspended, Cartman had managed to win everyone over with some melodramatic sob story about what a danger to society Kyle was. Probably the latter. Regardless, the few acquaintances he did have never quite treated him the same way again; it's always forced smiles and awkward pauses now, before they run off because they conveniently remember that they have somewhere they have to be.

"If you wanted me to rearrange your teeth again, all you had to do was ask," Kyle spits venomously, his fists rising on their own accord. The look on Cartman's face is priceless, and now matter how angry Kyle gets, invoking that kind of terror in someone who deserves it as much as Cartman will never fail to fill him with smug satisfaction.

Cartman's gaze darts from side to side, undoubtedly taking in the crowd that's started to form – kids waiting to get on the bus, but not willing to get involved, sadistically nosy. Cartman raises up, puffing out his chest, as if he actually needs to look even bigger. "Whatever, kike. You should be thanking me for not suing your ass – next time I won't be so merciful."

Kyle can't stop the bark of a laugh that escapes him, even as Cartman shoves past him, the bus dipping perilously under his weight. _Next time_. So much for looking like the better man when he practically admitted that Kyle was more than capable of kicking his ass again.

Adrenaline is still thrumming through Kyle's veins as he climbs onto the bus, and he feels kind of shaky with the unfulfilled aggression, and it must show on his face, because no one is quite meeting his eyes. He makes his way toward the very back, toward his usual spot by the window, and it's completely vacant. No one has sat by him in years, but he's mostly okay with that. At least he gets a whole seat to himself, with plenty of room to stretch out comfortably without having to worry about anyone touching him.

He pulls his legs up onto the seat and rests his back against the window, pulling out his iPod and trying to ignore the not-so-subtle looks everyone keeps giving him. It's bothersome, and the rage prickles beneath his skin; either he's a dangerous asshole who deserves to be locked away, or he's a quiet, nerdy minority who deserves to be picked on. One or the other, never both. He really wishes they'd make up their minds, because this back and forth bullshit is really getting old.

Kyle tries his best to push the anger aside as the bus slowly begins to move, and he drowns out the unreasonably loud chatter by turning up his music as loud as he can stand it. It's harder on days like this, when he gets himself worked up, lets Cartman get to him, only for it to go nowhere. He feels like a spring, wound up way too tight, ready to explode at the slightest provocation, and without an outlet it can take hours for him to calm down. When he'd been suspended, it had been suggested that he _had a problem_, and while Kyle still isn't exactly sure how he feels about that, his mom wouldn't listen to a word of it. To her, it's all a matter of self control, and unmanageable anger is caused by immaturity and selfishness, because there could never be anything _wrong_with her precious bubeleh – he just needs a little fine-tuning.

He's still tense by the time he gets home, but there's no one around to question him, which he's grateful for. He runs up to his room and lets his backpack fall off his shoulders, kicking it aside, and gets his computer started on booting up before he begins changing his clothes. He would prefer to curl up in bed with his laptop, but it doesn't have quite enough memory and so the game lags like a bitch, and in the middle of a fast-paced battle, that can be the difference between life and death. So he's been stuck playing on his old desktop, hunched over it for hours until he can't take sitting in his lame metal folding chair anymore. That's the only thing that keeps him from playing nonstop, and he's decided that that's a good thing, so hasn't looked into getting a new chair. Yet.

He's a little more violent than necessary as he tugs off his clothes, throwing them across the room in an attempt to blow off steam, his coat and jeans hitting against the wall with a satisfying smack of zippers and heavy fabric. It's not enough, and each little touch of relief makes the anger rear up even more, pushing toward the surface, and for a second he can't breathe, and he whirls around, letting out a yell as he slams his fist against the wall. He notices the sound first, the eerily loud crack, and he stands there, shaking and huffing for breath, staring between his hand and the wall, looking for damage. The side of his hand is rapidly turning red and he slowly becomes aware of the dull throbbing, but it's nothing serious, nothing is broken. At least he can see straight again.

The computer is ready to go by the time he's pulled on his pajama pants and a faded Terrance and Phillip t-shirt, and he settles into his chair, equally comforted and disturbed by the fact that he probably won't move from it for the next four hours or so. And even then, he'd only be taking a break to eat dinner, and then he'd inevitably be back to play for as long as he could until that stupid chair forced him to quit.

He shakes out his hand to try to get some feeling back into it, and then he logs in, ready to get started. He only has one goal in mind for this weekend, and that's to earn as much gold as he possibly can, as _fast_ as he possibly can. He wants – needs – that glowing armor, and he's only a half a million shy of getting it. This is the closest he's ever been to spending real money on a game; for only twenty dollars, he'd be able to add more than enough gold to his account, and Shee'vah would be glowing from head to toe within the hour, but he's not quite that desperate. He probably will be soon, if he doesn't make significant progress during the next couple of days.

As soon as the game loads, he sets to work, making his way out of the main town and off into the forest. By this point he has a pretty good grasp on which monsters have the best drops, and he's hoping that by playing the odds, by spending the day doing nothing but killing, he'll end up with quite a bit of gold and maybe a few valuable items he can sell.

It's mostly the latter – he only ends up getting gold drops between four and five hundred, sticking mostly in the one hundred range, but he's having unusual luck with item drops. Uncommon stones and weapons fall around him with what feels like nearly every kill, and there's a part of him that's concerned that there's some kind of glitch, because this shouldn't be happening. He's not about to question it, though, and he silently thanks the universe for allowing _something _to finally go his way. After all the shit he has to put up with every day, he deserves this.

He loses himself in the feeling of the game, the music, the sound effects, Shee'vah's delicate, graceful mannerisms that are so unlike his own. But when he plays, it's like he's a part of her, that there's no separation between them, that he really is beautiful and elegant, but also a wielder of deadly magic; the beauty as misleading as brightly colored poison. He wants to be like this, perfect and self-sufficient, loved by all but needing none. But at the end of the day he's still short and ugly, a nasty chip on his shoulder in place of strong independence.

Within a mere two hours, his inventory is packed with valuable items, armor and weapons that won't fit his character, and he leans back in his chair, contemplating his next move. Usually, when he stumbles across things he wants to sell, he'll just move his character into some central location in the main town and set up shop, letting people come to him and buy what they wanted. But that could take awhile, and it often meant leaving the game up for hours while we wandered away and tried to find something else to occupy his time with. He doesn't want to do that, not today, because when he adds it all up in his head, the items he already had in his inventory combined with the ones he found today are worth more than enough. It's impossible, unbelievable, but if he could somehow turn all of it into gold right now, he could have what he'd been wanting for so long without even having to touch the gold he'd been saving, and _that _would leave him money for other things, like a matching glowing weapon.

His only option besides setting up his shop is to log out of the game and get on the official forum, and find out if there's anyone who'd be willing to take everything he had for the exact price of the armor. It would actually be a good deal, and for once he'd be totally okay with getting less gold than what his finds are actually worth. He just wants the armor – it doesn't matter if it leaves him with a completely empty inventory. There's no need to be greedy.

The only problem is that Kyle tends to avoid the forums as much as he can, because they're always filled with incoherent chatspeak and an abundance of bright yellow smiley faces, and he can never look at it for too long without his brain feeling like it's about to explode. But this is different, this is _important_, and even though his posts either seem to go ignored or draw in the game's stupidest players, he figures it's worth a shot. He has nothing to lose, except for a few brain cells.

He fishes a notepad out of his desk and quickly scribbles down every single item he has, and he double-checks the online store, making sure he didn't just convince himself that the armor is cheaper than it really is. Everything checked out; the armor is still there, a frozen picture of its enticing glow, and its price is exactly what he thought it would be. He lets his fingers skim over the image longingly, the glass of the screen cool against his fingertips. He's going to own this. Tonight. He can't believe it, and he can't keep himself from smiling.

Breaking out of his trance, Kyle shoves away from the computer and runs to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, digging out a bottle of Aspirin. He's going to need it if he wants to survive the coming onslaught of idiocy. That in hand, he hurries back into his room and slams the door behind him, and he lands in his chair so gracelessly that he nearly slides off the other side and falls on the floor.

His legs are bouncing with excitement as he opens up the forum, and this feels like such a huge deal, way more important than it actually is. He knows it's not real, that he's wasting all of this time and energy on something that amounts to nothing in the real world, but it right now it seems like so much more than that, like everything in his life is about to turn around and start making sense. It's stupid, so stupid, but there's no one here to make fun of him or judge him, so Kyle doesn't even try to quell his excitement. This is the best thing that's happened to him in months, and he's not going to let some misplaced shame ruin it.

Making forum posts always makes him inexplicably nervous, which is another reason he avoids them when he can, and he checks the forum category and his spelling and grammar so many times that his words almost stop making sense. He finally works up his nerve enough to post it, and he halfway ducks away from the screen, as if some part of him expected to get physically attacked. Nothing happens, of course, but that doesn't stop his heart from pounding every time he refreshes the page, waiting anxiously for a response.

His post is as clear as it could possibly be; he listed everything he had to offer (in alphabetical order, even), and said he was only looking for glowing mage armor (or the gold value of it) in exchange, nothing else. So he has to ask himself why he immediately gets two replies, one offering only one thousand gold and some spring water, and one begging for Kyle to just give some of it to them for free. Or at least, that's what Kyle thinks they're saying – their words are almost indecipherable.

He doesn't bother to reply to either of them, and he goes ahead and pops an Aspirin, wondering why he bothered trying. It's always like this. Something about him always seems to attract the biggest dumbasses on the internet. Either that, or the game is totally filled with little kids, and he's the only thirteen year old loser who has nothing better to do.

He waits awhile before he refreshes again, and there's only one new response. He hesitates just a little before reading it, scrolling down to it unnecessarily slowly, putting off the inevitable disappointment. The response is from someone with the username Toolshed the Fucking Warrior, and that alone is enough to make Kyle smile and consider the offer more seriously, but it really doesn't require any consideration at all. Toolshed's post is simple: _hey I have glowing mage armor I can trade you and I'll throw in some other mage stuff I found if you want. pm me if you're interested._

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Kyle asks the empty room, laughter bubbling in his chest, and he feels a little overwhelmed with excitement. He keeps trying to tell himself not to get his hopes up, not yet, because this was too easy and there's a very good chance it's a scam somehow, but he can't help it. For whatever reason, this feels legit, and he's so eager to click the 'PM' button under Toolshed's name that he misses it the first few times.

'_Hey_', Kyle types, not quite sure how formal he should be with this. '_Thanks for your offer. I'm totally interested! So how do you want to do this? Just meet up somewhere and trade?_' He feels like he should say more, like he should thank this other user for actually reading his original post and offering what he asked for, but he doesn't want to come across as annoyingly chatty. Despite spending the majority of his time online, he's not quite familiar with the social aspect of it, so he doesn't know if he should keep this strictly business, or if he should try to be friendly, too. He finally decides that Toolshed's offer was short and to-the-point, and therefore his message should be, too.

He sends it before he has a chance to change his mind, and he starts refreshing the page obsessively, waiting for that little (1) to appear next to his inbox. It's a full five minutes before he gets a response, and at first Kyle is almost afraid to click on it. But he does, biting his lower lip in anticipation.

'_sure sounds good. forest to the west of town? that big fucking tree?_'

Kyle knows exactly which tree Toolshed is talking about; it's one Kyle had often wondered about, because it just looks important, and he keeps waiting for there to be some kind of quest or something based around it. But there haven't been any signs of that happening yet, which is slightly disappointing, but Kyle isn't giving up hope.

'_Okay, great. My character's name is Shee'vah. I'll be waiting for you._'

He doesn't bother to wait for a response, just exits his browser and loads up the game again. As soon as the town starts to take shape around him, he makes his character start to run, the game lagging and jerking choppily as it attempts to load, but Kyle doesn't have time to wait around for the hundreds of other characters to appear. He's waited too long for this already.

When he gets to the tree, there's no one there, and he isn't exactly surprised. He'd wanted to get there first, because he didn't want to make Toolshed have to wait on him, but now he wishes he'd stayed on the forum for just a little while longer, because he has no idea what Toolshed's character is, or if the character's name is actually the same as his forum username.

He decides to wait for awhile, because even if he doesn't know Toolshed's character, Toolshed should recognize Shee'vah. But still, Kyle hovers his mouse over any character that passes by, checking their name, because he wants to catch Toolshed before the two of them get stuck in some awkward pre-trade conversation.

It feels like hours go by, even though it's really no more than about three minutes, but Kyle is still about to log out and check his forum messages again, just to make sure that Toolshed didn't want to meet tomorrow or something. Right as he's seriously considering it, a large, barbarian of a character appears in the distance, lurching in Kyle's direction in a slow, menacing trot, and somehow Kyle just _knows_ that's him. He hovers his mouse over them just to make sure, and the name simply reads _Toolshed_. The 'fucking warrior' part was probably a bit too long for a character name, otherwise it would have been there, too; Kyle feels oddly certain of that.

He sends a trade request as soon as Toolshed gets within range, and starts adding every single thing in his inventory, which is more than a little nerve-wracking. There's still a part of him that doesn't believe this is real, that's just waiting for Toolshed to offer some frayed clothing and this all to have been some kind of cruel joke. He still can't believe it, even as he watches Toolshed's half of the trade menu fill up, a little picture of the glowing armor actually appearing, and this is really happening, it's not a scam or a joke or anything.

Toolshed throws in a few extra mage accessories and weapons, as promised, taking his time as if he's thinking carefully about each one before adding it, plus a couple thousand gold, but Kyle is barely aware of any of it. His mouse is poised over the 'accept' button, and all he wants is for Toolshed to finish up so he can finally, _finally _get his armor.

When Toolshed finishes up and confirms his end of the trade, Kyle only spares a quick glance at his offer, making sure he didn't remove the armor at last second, using all the other items as a distraction. But it's still there, only a click away, and Kyle wastes no more time. He accepts and immediately opens up his inventory, because he needs that armor on _now_.

He equips it and pauses for a second, grinning at the way it surrounded Shee'vah in a soft, golden light, little orbs of color fluttering around her like fairies. It's perfect, everything Kyle has ever hoped for – _better_ than he hoped for – and he can't wait to run through the middle of town and let everyone get a look. He's not usually this much of a showoff, but this is a special circumstance; _everyone _wants glowing armor, because it's not the kind of thing that can easily go overlooked. If you have it, everyone around you will know, no overlooking it, no exceptions, and maybe that's part of lure.

Satisfied, Kyle goes back to his inventory to see what else Toolshed had given him. Through the slight transparency of the inventory menu, he can see Toolshed still standing there, probably checking out the things Kyle had given him. Something about that makes Kyle kind of happy, like they have some kind of silent respect for each other now, because he knows he'll probably get excited every time he sees Toolshed from now on. But it's most likely one-sided; Toolshed probably does this sort of thing all the time. Kyle is probably the only one who would ever get this excited over a simple trade.

Some of the accessories Toolshed had given him were actually pretty valuable – along with some worthless starter ones that he probably just wanted out of his inventory – and Kyle equips as many of them as he can. He's just about to close his inventory and wander away, because he has no idea what to say and he's becoming increasingly aware of how awkward is just to be standing here not talking, and that's when he sees it. It's the very last thing in his inventory, on a new row all by itself that he had almost overlooked completely: the matching glowing weapon. He's almost afraid to equip it at first, because this is too much, he can't accept it; surely it's just a mistake and Toolshed will ask for it back.

Kyle talks himself into equipping it for that reason, just so Toolshed will know for sure that he has it, and Kyle exits his inventory and types, '_Dude._' That's all he can say, all he can think, because no one on the internet is this fucking generous; everybody is just looking out for themselves.

'_looks good_', Toolshed responds, followed by a little happy face, which is something Kyle usually hates but for some reason makes him so happy now.

Kyle wants to come up with some serious, mature response about how he can't accept this, how Toolshed should take it back and sell it and buy something for himself, but he can't quite bring himself to do that. He wants it, and Toolshed apparently wants him to have it – why ask questions?

He eventually settles with, '_Thank you so, so much. This is awesome._' But he's smiling so hard his face hurts, and he wishes he could convey that somehow without sounding like a total dipshit, but this has made his day, his week, his month, possibly his whole fucking year, and there's no way Toolshed could ever understand that.

'_no problem. well see ya._' That's probably the normal response, the one Kyle should have been expecting, but he can't help but feel a surge of disappointment as Toolshed takes off. He only takes a few lumbering steps, seeming to hesitate a little, before vanishing completely, evidently logging off. Kyle sighs to himself before doing the same. Dinner will probably be ready soon, and he figures he might as well stop now instead of getting distracted by something new, only to have to quit in the middle of it.

He turns off his monitor and stretches, leaning back in the chair as far as he can, balancing it on its back two legs as he braces his feet on the edge of the desk. He lets his head fall back and stares at the ceiling, his upside down room. He has so much stuff, everything put away in its neat little place, but he hasn't touched any of it in what feels like forever. There's a tall bookshelf completely lined with books, fiction and nonfiction, and he's read all of them more times than he can remember; his TV and Gamesphere sit high on top of his dresser and face the foot of his bed, which would be the perfect arrangement if he could actually access any channels. But the TV is strictly for gaming, and the cord on the controller is too short to reach the bed, which means he has to sit on the floor and look up too high to play. It's more trouble than it's worth, because his neck always hurts like a bitch afterward. But he used to do it all the time, no matter what, but everything kind of lost its sheen after his addiction to the internet really took hold.

He can't remember what caused it, what made him go from being a casual user to being completely reliant on it. It feels like he just woke up one morning and didn't care about anything else, like the time he spent doing other things was a waste. Because the internet never slept, there's always something new and exciting happening, and every second he's away means he's missing out. It doesn't matter that when he's online all he does is refresh pages endlessly, or roam around by himself in the game, because he's not entirely sure where to find this excitement, but he feels better knowing he has access to it, should it ever appear.

He mostly just plays games, _RPG: The RPG _being the latest one, but he's gone through Tetris phases and Farmville phases – practically anything with a high score board, just to prove that he always comes out on top. It gets a little frustrating, especially with Facebook games, because no one actively plays with him; he just competes with a couple of high scores from months ago. That's what eventually led him to games off Facebook, where he could play with other people who are just as into the games as he is. He's probably played every single free RPG out there, and he always jumps on new ones as soon as he discovers them, always hoping to be one of the very first players, because it seems like there should be some kind of popularity associated with that.

He gently lowers the chair back down onto all four legs, gripping onto the desk to steady himself, and stares at his hazy reflection in the blackened screen. It seems kind of pathetic when there's nothing there to look at; he spends so many hours sitting in this spot, never moving, hardly looking away, but it's not real. None of it will ever amount to anything in the real world, because it all goes away with the push of a button.

The sound of muffled bubblegum music breaks him out of his trance, and he's so unused to the sound that he doesn't immediately recognize it as his cell phone. He looks around dazedly, blinking rapidly, and it's not until his eyes land on his jeans, still in a wadded heap against the wall, that he realizes that someone is actually calling him.

He clambers out of the chair and stumbles across the room on numb legs, snatching up his jeans and searching the pockets for his phone. The outside screen is a mix of colors and inky blackness, a crack running up the middle like a bolt of lightning, because today hadn't been the first time Kyle had thrown his phone – unintentionally or otherwise. The downside is that he can never see who is calling, but somehow he still knows who it is before he answers. It's the only person who ever calls him besides his mom, who would never resort to using a phone when they're in the same house.

"Uh, hey Kenny," he says awkwardly, trying to sound pleasant, like he's actually happy to hear from him.

"Hey." Kenny draws the word out, probably trying to sound cool, but Kyle thinks the raspy hick voice kind of ruins the effect. "What's going on, man?"

"Nothing. Just about to eat dinner."

"With your _family_?" Kenny says it like it's completely unheard of. "Ouch. Wanna bail and hang with me for a bit?" He does this sometimes. They'll go weeks, months, without talking, then Kenny will call out of the blue and ask to hang out. It used to happen more frequently, but Kyle turned him down more often than not, always with some clever excuse, and Kenny must have gotten somewhat tired of it, must have realized that Kyle was avoiding him on purpose.

Kyle forces back the urge to just say no and hang up – he has better manners than that. "Oh, dude, you know I'd love to—" Kenny snorts humorlessly on the other end, and Kyle pretends not to notice "—but my mom wanted tonight to be this gay family night thing." He feigns a laugh, like he can't believe he has to admit to something as lame as this, when he's really going to spend the night holed up in his room, completely alone. As usual.

"So? You see your family every fuckin' day. C'mon, Kyle."

It's not that Kyle doesn't want friends; it's not that he isn't lonely; it's not that he doesn't spend every second wishing that he could live a life other than the one he currently has. He hates this, staying inside all the time, seeing no one, doing nothing. It feels wrong, like he was meant for so much more than this, like maybe deep down inside he's not just an outcast with an anger problem; maybe he can be someone bold, someone who stands up for what he believes in, someone who'd go against his parents and society and do something completely crazy if it meant doing the right thing.

The problem, he thinks, is that he's not overly passionate about anything. The internet is easy, safe, and he'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't get truly obsessed with whatever his game of the moment was. It's there when he wants it, and he can turn it off as soon as he gets tired of it. It's not like a friend. Not like Kenny, who demands his attention when Kyle doesn't want to give it, and the times they have hung out always ended up running longer than Kyle would have liked.

Or maybe the problem is that he just doesn't like Kenny. There's nothing overtly wrong with him, other than the fact that he's not the kind of person Kyle exactly wants to hang out with. Kyle tries to be a good person, tries not to judge people over things they can't change, but the fact is that Kenny's a little too dirty, a little too perverted; he's unmotivated and he smells bad and his clothes don't fit, and he is in every way the complete opposite of Kyle. He's not a bad person, and Kyle could like him in moderation, maybe, with someone between them to act as a buffer. Frankly, he's not perfect, doesn't quite fill the inexplicable void in Kyle's chest, and Kyle doesn't want to devote every second of his time and attention to a friendship he's not fully invested in. He doesn't want to settle on Kenny just because he seems to be the only person in South Park interested in spending time with him.

"Sorry," Kyle says with a dramatic sigh. "I wish I could get out of this. Maybe some other time?"

Kenny's reply comes a little hesitantly. "Okay. Sure. Just give me a call when you're free."

"Okay," Kyle agrees, already knowing that he's not going to, that he's going to slap his forehead and claim to have forgotten when Kenny inevitably asks him about it.

When he finally escapes, finally hangs up and tosses his phone back onto the floor, there's a part of him that feels oddly guilty. Guilty maybe isn't the right word – but there's a heaviness inside him, even though he got what he wanted, and it's almost enough to make him call Kenny back and tell him he convinced his mom to let him go. But there's no sense in doing that, because he doesn't _want_ to go, and so he trudges downstairs, only to bump into his mom halfway down.

"Oh Kyle!" she exclaims, as if it's been forever since she's seen him. In a way, he supposes it has been. "I was just coming to get you, bubbie, dinner's ready."

It's as uncomfortable as it always is, sitting at the table with his family while Ike babbles about what he did at school, how much his teacher loves him, how she thinks he has so much potential, how he helped his friends with their classwork and earned a gold star. And their parents listen, smiling and nodding so proudly, and Kyle spends that time imagining how the conversation would go if he actually spoke up.

_Guess what I did today, ma._

_Oh, did you find out what you made on your test? You got another A didn't you? My boys are so smart._

_No – no, I mean, I haven't found out yet. But I finally got my glowing armor on that RPG I'm playing!_

And his parents would just stare at him, he can envision it so clearly, and so he would try to backtrack, to talk about school.

_Oh and uh, I almost got in another fight with Cartman. It was so fucking worth it for the look on his face – you should have seen it!_

And then he'd probably get a lecture, about fighting and language, and dinner would either go on in an angry silence, or Ike would babble even more, kissing up, silently saying _I'm the good son, look how good I am, I can do no wrong._

So Kyle remains silent, answering with a simple, "Good," when his dad asks him how his day was. He pretends to be tired, yawning and stretching dramatically, pretends to regret not being awake enough to stay to hear the end of Ike's tale about his thrilling recess adventure, and he goes back to his room to "relax for a bit, maybe read."

The look his mom gives him as he hurries up the stairs tells him that she doesn't believe for one second that he'll actually be reading, or even relaxing, that she knows he'll go to his room and go right back to what he'd been doing before coming downstairs. As long as she doesn't try to stop him, Kyle doesn't care if she knows. He has nothing to hide. His parents might be disappointed that this is all he's doing with his life at the moment, but there's nothing they can do about it. It's not like lecturing him will make the perfect friend appear.

So he goes back to his computer, sits back down in his uncomfortable metal folding chair, and it feels like coming home after being away for too long. He turns the monitor back on, and the screen is still slowly trying to fade in as he double-clicks the little tree icon (again, that fucking _tree_) on his desktop, setting the RPG to loading.

It doesn't matter how much he tells himself he expected this; when the town materializes around his character, the other players loading one right after another, he's still disappointed when no one says anything about his armor. He stands there for a minute – maybe the splendor of it takes a little longer to load for everyone – but no one says a word. People log in and out, appearing and disappearing like fireflies, carrying on their own conversations around him, and if anyone is even remotely interested in him then they must be keeping to themselves.

That's what Kyle finally decides on when he gives up and runs out toward the forest. Everyone was jealous, because he was the only one there with glowing armor and a glowing weapon, but they hadn't wanted to make their jealousy too obvious. But they all saw it. There was no way they could have missed it. That still provides a small bit of comfort, even if Kyle didn't get the fanfare he'd always imagined.

He spends the rest of the night – until nearly six in the morning – going on quests, leveling up, pretending he's not looking for Toolshed. But he finds himself venturing out farther and farther, covering more ground than he usually does in a single night, taking notice of everyone he passes by. If Toolshed is online, Kyle can't find him anywhere, and he supposes the odds are against him; there are countless people on, logging in and logging out by the second, and Toolshed could be anywhere, even at some far edge of the map that Kyle hasn't even explored yet.

But it doesn't matter, because Kyle _isn't _looking for him. Maybe if he happens to stumble across him, he might say hey – that's only being polite after all – but there's no point in actively pursuing him. Whatever odd connection Kyle had felt must have been one-sided, otherwise Toolshed would have said something before he left.

But Kyle doesn't see him, and when he finally gives up and stumbles to bed he's shaking with fatigue. He's pretty sure he falls asleep before his head even hits the pillow, and he has dream after strangely vivid dream about having a best friend. In some of the dreams, they're just doing normal mundane things, sitting around playing video games or just sitting side by side, doing nothing, looking at nothing, absorbed in each other's presence. In others, they're doing things that are completely insane, things that should have made Kyle realize he was dreaming, because they fall below ice and discover a prehistoric iceman; they catch a flight to Canada on a whim to do something important, something he thinks has to do with Ike, but the details are hazy; they go down into the sewers and talk to a family of shit. It's all so impossible but it feels so perfect, like this is the way his life should really be.

When he wakes up, the sun is beating on his face, making the vision behind his closed eyes glow a blinding red, and he knows without looking that it's well past noon. He turns his back to the window and gropes for his blankets, because he was so tired he fell asleep right on top of them, and tries to wiggle beneath them without waking himself up too much. The effort is in vain, though, because the sheets are still twisted from the night before, and he can't stand the feeling of it, like his legs are caught in some kind of spider web, and he's wide awake by the time he sits up and opens his eyes and gets everything all smoothed out and comfortable.

He wants to flop back over and try to go back to sleep, because even though his mind is awake, his body still feels heavy and shaky, stiff and aching from spending more time than usual at the computer, and his eyelids feel like they must be swollen because he can't quite open them all the way. But a glance at the clock proves that it's already a little past two, and his mom will kill him if he sleeps until four again. He needs to get up, he needs to _eat_, but all he does is pull his comforter over his shoulders and slink over to the computer, slumping down into his chair, the comforter wrapped tight around him like a warm cocoon.

He's not sure what he's doing exactly – there's nothing that he can check quickly, not without getting involved for hours, but he boots the computer up anyway, shivering as the air swirling around his feet tries to steal away the last of his sleepy warmth. He pulls his legs up into the chair, tucking his feet under himself, and there's barely enough room and the edge of the chair is pressing into his shins, but it's okay for now. He can tolerate it, because he doesn't plan on staying here for hours just yet.

His dreams are mostly forgotten by the time his desktop has loaded; all that's left are few misplaced feelings and a piercing sort of longing in his chest, and the heavy, gloomy feeling that everything he's doing is completely worthless. It almost feels like there's someone watching him from a distance, some higher power maybe, laughing at how seriously he's taking something as simple as the internet, and for a moment he feels extra small and pathetic. He casts a glance at his door, making sure it's still locked, because he suddenly doesn't want to be caught like this – barely even awake and already latched onto the computer, because he has nothing else.

He goes straight to the forums, telling himself it's because he has nothing better to do, but in the back of his mind he's already planning the PM he's going to send to Toolshed, because for once – just this _once_– he wants someone to talk to and hang out with and go on quests with. It's not fair that he has to be alone both in reality and online; even the most annoying people he's encountered in this game have had at least one person with them, someone they stand around and talk to for hours right in the middle of town, and it always puts Kyle on edge because it clutters up the group chat box, but he's also man enough to admit (at least to himself) that he's jealous. If he actually makes a friend, someone he's really proud of, he'd want to show them off, too.

But he's not going to make any friends unless he puts out effort.

Which is exactly what he intends to do when he gets to the forum, but he freezes as soon as the page loads, and he feels like he actually understands what people mean when they say their heart leapt into their throat. He can barely swallow, barely breathe, and all he's aware of is his pulse thrumming way too fast, his heart hammering in a rush of excitement, because there's already a little (1) next to his inbox, and somehow he knows, just _knows_ it's from Toolshed.

He's proven right the second he clicks his inbox, finding one message with the title "um hey" from Toolshed the Fucking Warrior. Kyle clicks on it and reads over it so quickly that it barely makes sense at first, and he has to look away from the screen and take a breath, calm himself down, because he's getting way too worked up over this.

He places a hand over his chest, fascinated by the way his heart is absolutely racing, and he smiles a little, focusing on a faded stain on the carpet. Someone wants to talk to him, to be his friend – that _never _happens, not unless it's some weirdo stalker only interested in getting handouts.

When he collects himself, he looks back up at the message, and it's still a little hard to read, because apparently Toolshed has something against commas. But Kyle can't bring himself to care, because something about this feels right, because Toolshed managed to squeeze everything Kyle had been thinking into two simple paragraphs:

_So hey I don't know if you remember me but we traded yesterday and I guess this is kind of weird but like you're the only person I've talked to on here that isn't completely insane or stupid or something._

_So I was wondering if you like wanted to be in my party or something because yeah that'd be sweet. Let me know. Or if you want me to leave you alone I'd understand that because I guess this is kind of random but I just had to ask._

The only thing that puts a slight damper on Kyle's elation is the party invite. He's been in them before, because it's pretty common for people to just wander up and send him an invite at random, but it's always some overly large group, one where he's never acknowledged, and he always spends all his time wondering how the 'cool' people in the group got that way. Every time he tries to interact, to make himself known and gain some friends, he's always ignored, no matter what party he's in. He hasn't joined one in forever, and he's been telling himself that he's given up on them for good, but he doesn't want to miss out on a chance to talk to Toolshed some more.

But what if this is no different? What if he joins the party and finds out that Toolshed already has dozens of friends, and he just wants to add Kyle to the collection, to his increase his numbers? What if they don't get to interact at all, and Toolshed pretends not to know him?

It's nerve-wracking, but somehow Kyle has a feeling it's not going to be that way. Toolshed seems to care too much – that can't be an act. Even if he is about to get stuck with some large group, Toolshed wouldn't just shove him aside and ignore him.

The timestamp on the PM shows that it had been sent about twenty minutes ago, right when Kyle had woken up, and Kyle quickly types out a response, hoping Toolshed is somehow still on the forum and not logged into the game.

_Sure, dude, that'd be awesome. I'm really glad you asked, because you're the most sane person I've met on here, too._

_I'm logging in now – meet me in the same spot we met yesterday?_

He waits, refreshing the page every few seconds, wondering if he really should just log in now, like he said, or if he should see if he gets a response. The question becomes irrelevant when a pitifully loud grumble from his stomach snaps him out of his thoughts, and he's suddenly aware that it's 2:30 and he hasn't even been out of his room.

He takes one last look at the screen, refreshing the page, but there's still no response, and so he gets up, throws his comforter onto the bed, and bolts out of his room.

The look his mom gives him when he rushes into the kitchen and starts digging through the cabinets is nothing short of disappointed, but she says nothing, not at first, and he can feel her eyes on him as he shoves four pieces of bread into the toaster.

"Kyle," she says sternly, and her tone freezes him. She's leaning against the counter in front of the sink, which is overflowing with sparkly white bubbles, and she's absently toweling off a plate that had probably been used for lunch. A big family lunch, everyone sitting at the table, without him. Oops.

"Did you just wake up?" It's hardly a question, because her tone makes it very clear that she already knows the answer, and she's just toying with her prey before she eats it.

"Um. No." It's not really a lie, because he's been up for exactly thirty minutes now, which means, no, he did not just wake up. He's proud of that little loophole right until the moment her cheeks flush, two bright spots of red on her angry face, and then he suddenly wishes he had just admitted his mistake and gotten it over with.

Her voice, however, is eerily calm when she finally speaks again, "Then would you like to explain why you didn't respond when I knocked on your door – _three separate times_– and told you to come downstairs?"

"Sorry, ma." He can't even look at her anymore, staring sheepishly at the tiled floor, feeling exposed and vulnerable with his pajamas and sleep-mussed hair. He has a billion fallback excuses – ranging from not being able to sleep, to getting caught up in a book, to feeling sick and spending most of the night in the bathroom – but none of those would work right now, not when she's this scarily calm, because she must be really, really pissed at him, must have spent all day dwelling on it, harnessing her temper and carefully calculating what she was going to do to him when he finally got out of bed.

His mom turns back to the sink, angrily scrubbing at dishes. "Your father has gone to pick up a new knob for your door – your lock privileges have been revoked."

"Okay." Kyle chokes the word out, humiliated even though he got off really easily. He'd just gotten the lock last year, with the instruction that he was only allowed to use it at night, that it was never, _ever _to be used to keep people out of his room during the day. Kyle had followed that rule obsessively, because it was always so nice to be able to lock his door around 11:00 each night, and he'd always smile to himself every time the handle jiggled and there was a heavy thump on the other side of the door – Ike trying to barge in and crashing into the unyielding wood.

But apparently it doesn't matter how well he followed the rules, if his mom can't come in and physically yank him out of bed in the morning.

He's decidedly less enthusiastic by the time he finally gets back up to his room with a stack of burnt toast on a paper plate, and he's overly upset about this, about everything, and he tries to blame it on lack of sleep to save face. But it always hurts, probably more than it should, every single time his mom is upset with him, and he never understands the kids that just blow off their parents and do what they want to do. If the guilt didn't kill him, his mom would.

He wipes at his dry eyes with the back of his hand and refreshes the forum one more time, but Toolshed still hasn't messaged him back, which means he's probably not going to. Kyle had wasted too much time downstairs with his mom; if Toolshed had actually gotten his message, he'd probably given up on waiting for him.

Kyle's still so tired, and now doubled with having to deal with his mom, knowing how completely disappointed in him she is, he really wants to do nothing more than fall back in bed and sleep forever, until all of this goes away. But he knows things will just get even worse if she comes up here to find him sleeping, and so, for once, he forces himself to start up the RPG when he really doesn't want to. He rests his forehead on the computer desk as the game starts up, and it feels like every time he blinks he's about to get dragged under, but he doesn't want to move, even as the gentle music begins to play.

He stays like that for a moment, and maybe he dozes off a few times, but he finally forces himself to sit up and pick at his toast, which is now completely cold. Still, eating wakes him up a little, enough to make him want to go out to that tree and see if Toolshed is actually there. He doubts it, but at least it'll give him something to do, and so he takes off, leaving the town behind.

He's barely close enough to the tree to be able to tell if the character standing there is Toolshed or not, and he's just about to mouse over them and find out when a party invite takes up the screen, obscuring his view. Kyle accepts without a second thought, and he can't believe Toolshed is actually here, waiting for him, when he should had given up a long time ago.

Kyle switches from the group chat to the private party one, and just as he does, Toolshed says, '_hey there you are I was starting to think I freaked you out haha_'.

'_Sorry, I got in a fight with my mom._' After a second of hesitation, he adds, '_I can't believe you waited._'

'_well I mean you said you'd be here_'

It shouldn't be that simple, but somehow it is. Toolshed doesn't seem to be mad about the wait at all, so Kyle lets it go.

'_So,_' Kyle types after a short silence. '_How many other people are there?_'

'_what do you mean?_'

'_In your party._'

'_oh haha um well now there's two. it kind of didn't exist until just now._'

It's so completely perfect that Kyle can hardly believe it. This is the ideal situation, just him and Toolshed, no one else around to make Kyle feel like a third wheel. This is going to be so awesome – he's finally going to get to enjoy the game in ways he'd never been able to before, and he can't wait to get started.

They decide to spend some time leveling first, because after playing so long last night Kyle is a little ahead, but it's so much easier to level Toolshed up, because together they can take down monsters that Toolshed wouldn't have been able to handle alone. The XP feels like it's just rolling in, faster than it ever had before, and it only takes a couple of hours to get Toolshed caught up. _This_ is how the game is supposed to be played; even level grinding is so much more enjoyable with someone else there, occasionally leaving little bits of battle commentary in the party chat.

Kyle's dad comes in at some point during this to replace his doorknob, but Kyle hardly notices him, even as he responds with lifeless 'uh-huh's to each of his dad's expected questions: "Do you know why you're being punished?" "You understand that your mother and I are only doing what's best for you, right?"

It's only after he and Toolshed finish their second quest together that Kyle looks up and notices his dad is gone, along with his lock, but he shrugs it off and goes back to the game. He and Toolshed don't talk much, but it doesn't really matter, because just knowing that someone is there with him because they want to be is more than enough for Kyle.

The atmosphere between them is so laidback and comfortable that it's almost hard to believe they haven't even known each other for a full twenty-four hours. They fall into a routine so easily that it seems practiced; Toolshed generally leads, deciding what place they should explore next or suggesting a quest to do, and Kyle is content to follow, because the things Toolshed suggests are things he would have wanted to do anyway. At first Toolshed was a little hesitant about taking the lead all the time, always asking for Kyle's opinion, making it clear over and over that he didn't want to be some domineering asshole. But it doesn't take long for him to understand that Kyle really is okay with this, because Toolshed is less of a leader and more of just a decision-maker; they're equals, no one bosses the other around, and that seems to be silently understood between them.

They break for dinner at the same time, promising to be back in an hour and meet up at their tree, and they continue playing on into the night. Kyle is the one to give up first, as much as he'd love to keep playing forever, because he doesn't want a repeat of today – he can never take having his mom mad at him, even though she seemed mostly fine at dinner, aside from the comment about how she can't believe he can spend that much time on the computer.

'_okay_', Toolshed types, after Kyle regretfully informs him that he should go to bed. '_you'll be on tomorrow right?_'

'_Yeah, absolutely. I'm pretty much on all day, every day._'

'_haha me too_'

They're silent for a moment, their characters huddled close together at the base of the mountain they'd just finished exploring, while other players ran past them. This is what Kyle had always wanted, just being able to stand with someone, having a conversation all their own, oblivious to everyone else.

'_hey I'm really happy we got to know each other_' Toolshed says suddenly. '_I've never really had anyone to talk to or anything so this is really cool._'

Kyle smiles to himself, because he's been thinking the same thing all day, and he still can't believe that he found someone like this, someone who found it as impossible to make internet friends as he did.

'_Yeah, same here. I've had more fun today than I ever have before._'

'_me too :)_'

They're silent again, and Kyle puts an end to it when he catches himself smiling back at Toolshed's smiley face.

'_So. Goodnight, I guess._'

'_nite, dude!_'

Kyle logs out before he can make a fool of himself, but he really wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. It'll be easier than ever to keep in contact, since now he'll know in-game whether or not Toolshed is online, and they'll have the party chat, but it still feels like they'll never get to talk again.

He pushes his concerns aside and goes to bed, because the sooner he falls asleep, the sooner he'll wake up, and the sooner he'll get to talk to Toolshed again. He doesn't know what it is, but this feels like the start of something huge, something life-changing.

But maybe that's just the encroaching sleep talking – it's just a game, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - **Agh, I apologize for the delay. Like I said, I'm busy with college and work right now, so I'm more than a little overwhelmed, but hopefully there won't be this long of a wait in the future. Also, this fic is going to span several years, so things will be moving along kind of quickly in the first few chapters, but they'll slow down soon.

Oh and thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the first chapter. You guys made me so happy lsdkjfsdl

* * *

><p>As the weeks roll past, Kenny seems determined to keep from asking Kyle why he never called, and that seems to turn into a determination to keep from talking to Kyle entirely. Kyle, for his part, doesn't really notice or care. School is the same as ever, whether or not he's on good terms with Kenny. He still rides the bus alone, studies alone, eats lunch alone. Deals with Cartman and Craig and anyone else who has a problem with him alone. The only difference is that he's not alone when he gets home; at least, it doesn't feel like he is. It's become just another part of his routine to come home and hang out with Toolshed in the RPG, and it's the part of the day Kyle looks forward to the most.<p>

The only problem is that now he has absolutely no reason or desire to get off the internet at all, even to study, even to sleep, because his only friend in the world is in there. However, that means he's sore all the time from being hunched over in that stupid chair, and he's pretty sure the indentations on the fronts of his legs are permanent (because he always sits with his legs tucked under himself, to keep his ass from falling asleep), and getting a new, comfortable computer chair has suddenly become a priority.

But not a very urgent priority, because Kyle still rushes straight home every single day, eager to talk to Toolshed, even if their conversations never really go beyond things outside of _RPG: The RPG_. Just Toolshed's presence is enough somehow; Kyle can come home after the shittiest day in the world, and even when he feels like nothing can ever make him feel better, seeing Toolshed standing under their tree waiting for him instantly brings a smile to his face.

He just enjoys the fact that they don't have to be having deep discussions to enjoy each other's company; he loves that they can go hours in silence, just running around together, and it's not awkward at all; he loves that he doesn't feel the need to pretend to be someone he's not, that their conversations aren't all stiff and formal. At school, he always feels like he has to monitor what he say, that he has to alter his opinions and sense of humor, because no one gets it. And while Kyle's a little more okay with standing alone for what he believes in, he's not willing to take that same stance over something as simple a sick joke or profane comment. But with Toolshed, it's different. He can say almost anything that passes through his head and Toolshed seems to understand perfectly. One time he points out a rock formation that looks like a giant dick, and Toolshed immediately responds saying he was thinking the same thing, and then he leads Kyle off to what he calls the "vagina cave." Which, indeed, looks just like a vagina, Kyle is surprised to discover. There's a river rushing out of it, tinted red in the simulated evening sunlight, and it makes Kyle feel vaguely ill.

'_Dude, what the fuck. It has a clit and everything._'

'_I know seriously dude they're doing this on purpose I just know it_'

And over the course of their explorations, they find Boob Mountains, Testicle Lake, Ass Canyon, and countless variations of dick and vagina patterns, even hidden on tree bark. They're still not entirely sure if it's on purpose or not, but it's still so awesome to have to someone to talk to like this, someone with the same sense of humor, someone who just _gets _it.

They don't spend all their time looking for hidden sexual things; they actually play the game properly the majority of the time, leveling and going on quests and exploring, and they spend a lot of time trying to make it to the far side of the map, just to see what's out there. They can never make it, there's always this huge ass monster that appears out of nowhere and slaughters them in one blow, no matter how much they level up, and somehow it's still hilarious every single time. Because it always happens right when they think they've made it, think they'll go unnoticed and make it farther than they ever have before.

When they're really bored, they'll troll other players, saying stupid shit that borders dangerously on harassment, just to see what kind of reaction they get. It's never anything too serious, because Kyle really is a nice guy and he thinks Toolshed must be too, because they always stop before it gets out of hand. But as far as Kyle can tell, neither of them feel guilty over the laughs they get out of it.

It's for all these reasons, all these and so many more, that Kyle doesn't say a word the day he comes home to find that he really, _really_ doesn't want to play anymore. It's only a month into his friendship with Toolshed, and while the game had become more fun than ever for awhile, Kyle suddenly just doesn't care. Leveling, questing, all of it – it just seems like a chore. He wants to play video games, he wants to read the book he picked up at the library, he wants to go watch TV with Ike. But, more than anything, he wants to talk to Toolshed.

It's stupid, and maybe it's only because he doesn't have any real life friends, but it feels like he and Toolshed are closer than they probably really are. Kyle doesn't know anything about him, not even his real name, but somehow he's so important, and Kyle's not ready to give this up, not yet. He knows internet friendships probably aren't supposed to last forever, but he's going to hold onto this one for as long as he can.

So he logs on, pretends to be enthusiastic, and things go on like normal. It's not like he doesn't have a good time at all – once they get into it he enjoys himself, but there are a billion other things he'd rather be doing. But time seems to crawl by slower than usual, and Toolshed must think Kyle doesn't feel well or something, because he finally stops killing things to ask if he's okay.

'_Yeah, I'm fine,_' Kyle responds. '_Why?_'

'_I don't know you seem distracted or something like I cleared out this whole area and you just kind of stood there_'

Kyle isn't sure if that was intended to be as accusatory as it sounds, but since Toolshed hasn't said a single negative thing to him in the month they've known each other, Kyle gives him benefit of the doubt.

'_Oh, sorry. I guess I'm just having an off day._'

'_okay that's okay…. what do you want to do? if you want to quit just say so I mean like I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to play right now_'

It's kind of amazing that some anonymous person on the internet can suddenly read Kyle better than anyone else can, and that's exactly why Kyle doesn't want to quit. Because this off day will never end, because he can't change the fact that he'd rather bang his head into the wall than go on another quest, but if Toolshed is still into it, he shouldn't have to play alone.

'_No, dude, it's fine. I've been looking forward to this all day._'

That much is true at least – will always be true. Even if he grows to completely loathe _RPG: The RPG_, Kyle can't imagine ever getting tired of Toolshed. He wants to know him better, as a real person and not just a character; he wants to really, truly be his friend. At least, as much of a friend as it's possible to be on the internet. Internet friendships always seem so cold and impersonal, since they're limited to strictly text; there's no talking or seeing or hearing or touching. Kyle can't imagine getting too close to someone without those necessary aspects of all human relationships, but he wants to do the best he can, because there's no chance of him meeting anyone like this in South Park. It's going to be the same people in high school, and even in the unlikely event that someone does move to town, the chances of them being the perfect friend are slim to none. Toolshed is all he has right now, as pathetic as that sounds.

'_okay…_' There's a long pause, like Toolshed's kind of at a loss. '_let's just go somewhere by ourselves for bit…. vagina cave?_'

'_It'll be on its period soon, but haha sure._'

'_you won't even see the water change colors if we're far enough inside_'

'_You want to penetrate Vagina Cave? Without protection?_'

'_you're my protection. my glowing protection_'

It doesn't even make sense but Kyle laughs anyway and follows Toolshed there, cracking up each and every time Toolshed demands that they go '_deeper, DEEPER!_' They finally get far enough inside that no light reaches them, other than the strange impossible glow that always appears around characters when they get in dark places, and Kyle's armor. The little orbs of color that float around Kyle's armor look extra pretty against the darkness, the soft pinks and blues reflecting off the rock walls and glittering in the water.

Neither of them have time to comment on it, though, because a flurry of giant bats descends from the ceiling, smacking into them like kamikazes, and suddenly it's just another battle, the very thing Kyle was hoping to avoid for now. It's not too much of a struggle, thanks to Kyle's long range weapon, and he's knocking bats out of air one right after another, while Toolshed stands huddled beside him, waiting for one to dive down and get within range.

'_sorry_', Toolshed types, when they've cleared the area. '_she doesn't get a lot of action_'

And Kyle is dying again, laughing so hard his sides hurt, and he hates that all he can do is type '_L O FUCKING L_' and hope Toolshed gets the idea.

'_good job protecting me btw_'

'_That's my job. I'm your glowing condom, after all,_' Kyle says, and then he wonders if that's a little _too_ weird, even if they've been implying it all along.

Luckily, Toolshed doesn't seem to be bothered by it at all. '_I'm calling you that from now on okay_'

It may be weird, but it's the first nickname Kyle's ever had that wasn't give to him by his mom, and he appreciates it way more than he should, even though he doubts Toolshed will ever actually call him that.

They stay in the cave by themselves for awhile, just talking about stupid things, killing off the bats every time they spawned. And Kyle likes this so much more than actually playing the game, and he wishes they could hide away like this from now on, because this is the first time they've ever had something this close to a real conversation that lasted more than a minute or two at most.

It doesn't exactly happen again, but things between them become even easier after that somehow. There's more of a balance between playing and talking, though their conversations still mostly revolve around the game; maybe it's the point of an RPG, but it's like neither of them exist as real people at all. Ordinarily, Kyle would have been okay with that, since he's been getting the internet safety lecture more often than ever lately, and if he's to follow all of those rules the way he should, their friendship can never pass beyond the fantasy realm. That doesn't mean he's not more than a little disappointed about it, because he _needs _to know Toolshed's real name, if nothing else.

But Kyle never asks, and he keeps logging on as soon as he can every day, playing until he's so tired he can't focus on the screen, spending the following day dozing off in class. If his grades are slipping at all, it's barely noticeable, because his parents haven't said anything, and they still give him a giant hug and take him out to eat when he brings home his report card at the end of the semester.

It's only two weeks into December and it's fucking freezing South Park, has been for a couple months now, and Kyle doesn't bother to take off his hat or his heavy orange coat when he and his family get to Casa Bonita. He wants to be excited about this, because he absolutely loves Casa Bonita, and it's all the way in Denver so they hardly ever get to go, but all he's been able to think about is that he didn't get a chance to tell Toolshed he wouldn't be online today. How long will Toolshed stand under the tree and wait for him? How upset will he be when he finally gives up? What if he thinks Kyle's mad at him, or that Kyle is never going to log on again? What if _Toolshed_ never logs in again?

It's making him panic, a ball of nervous energy in his chest that's reducing his breaths to short little gasps. He can't lose his only friend over something like this, he has to get home, he has to get online before Toolshed gives up and goes to bed.

A hand lands on his shoulder, lightly, affectionately, but it still startles him so much that he jerks backward, nearly knocking his chair to the floor.

"Kyle," his dad says gently. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah." It comes out tense and muffled over the lump in his throat, and Kyle forces a smile, because as much as he wants to go home, he doesn't want to hurt his parents' feelings either. They did this to surprise him, to make him happy; the last thing he wants to do is make them think he isn't grateful for it.

But even with that in mind, the nervous bouncing of his legs under the table doesn't stop, and his eyes keep darting up to the clock without him even wanting them to. He can feel his parents glancing at him with concern, and he offers them smiles every time he catches their eyes, but they don't seem to be buying it.

"This is – uh," Kyle starts, trying to break the heavy silence. "This is great, thank you so much."

His mom reaches across the table and gives his hand a squeeze. "You earned it, bubbie. We're so proud."

It makes Kyle feel a little sick, because he hasn't _earned_ anything; all he's done this year is sneak in naps during class and rush through his homework during lunch. He hardly studies at all anymore, other than flipping through the textbook five minutes before the test is handed out. He's slacked off in every way possible, and yet here they are, his parents going out of their way to reward him, overflowing with pride. He suddenly can't stand the way they're looking at him, like he's really something special, and he wants to crawl under the table and hide, because it suddenly feels more accusatory than loving, like they know he's not trying. They _have _to know – every time they come up to his room, he's never doing anything but playing his game.

Kyle slumps down in his seat, hiding as much as he can, as he absently pushes the leftover food around with his fork, smashing it all together. He's suddenly not hungry at all, and he actually wishes Ike had tagged along, just for someone to break up the awkward silence, to take the attention off of Kyle. But Ike hadn't wanted to go to Casa Bonita, because apparently he suddenly hates it, thinks it's _overrated_, even though he's still a fucking kid and should love the waterfall and the cave and the whole fucking atmosphere. But their parents gave in and scheduled his good grades dinner for some other time, deciding that it's more rewarding to do something special for each of them individually. It's really not, but the only good thing about that is that Kyle will be home alone when it's Ike's turn, with hours of uninterrupted internet time.

The mashed up concoction of beans and rice and _pico de gallo_ on his plate is suddenly making him nauseated, and he's hyperaware of the squishy wet sound his fork makes every time he presses it into the mess, and he lets it fall to the table with a clatter. He tilts his head back, staring at the ceiling, sucking in deep, slow breaths, trying to focus on anything but the churning in his stomach. But the Mariachi music that's been playing on repeat is suddenly too loud, each little tinny blast of trumpets through the speaker feels like it's wrapping around his throat, and _shit_ he really is going to be sick.

He's not sure if he's actually reached the point of pathetic that he's having legitimate internet withdrawals, or if it's the guilt, or maybe just the impeccable timing of his abysmal immune system, but right as his mom tenderly calls his name he bolts out of his chair, which topples over backward, and he claps a hand over his mouth and makes his way to the bathroom as fast as he can, weaving around tables and nearly crashing into waiters. He barely makes it into a stall, and he's puking before he can even fully drop to his knees in front of the toilet, and all he can think about is how embarrassed he is, how _stupid_ this is, how fucking unsanitary the bathroom floor is. That thought makes him feel even sicker, and he tries to shove it aside. He wants to go home, to curl up in his pajamas and never leave his room again, because this is the stupid shit that happens when he's out in public.

He stays on the floor for a bit after he's finished, holding his stomach and trembling, suddenly way too hot in his winter clothes. Sweat is trickling down his spine, and he can feel beads of it collecting on his forehead, but he's dazedly concerned about taking his coat and his hat off, because it suddenly seems extremely important to keep them from touching the floor.

The bathroom door creaks open and Kyle hears someone cautiously step inside.

"Kyle?" It's his dad's voice. "Are you in here?"

"Yeah," he croaks out, and his voice sounds weak and pitiful even to his own ears. He flushes the toilet before he reaches up to unlock the stall, because being seen in front of a toilet full of his undigested dinner seems like the ultimate humiliation for some reason. He manages to pull himself to his feet without touching the floor with his hands, grabbing onto the toilet paper dispenser and the edge of the door, and his dad's right there to catch him when he stumbles out of the stall.

"Are you okay?" his dad asks, a little uselessly, and Kyle barely keeps himself from rolling his eyes. Of course he's not okay, that's why he's in a public bathroom of all places. "Let's get you outside, maybe some fresh air will help."

His dad leads him outside, an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and Kyle wishes he'd let go, because this is humiliating enough as it is, and he really does not feel well enough to be this close to anyone. But the burst of icy air that hits them as soon as they make it out the door is an instant relief, and Kyle unzips his coat, and he's absolutely freezing within seconds, but it's worth it, because it feels so _good_.

His dad leaves him on a bench and goes back inside to pay, and Kyle sits quietly, staring out into the night and watching the big, slow falling snowflakes glisten under the yellow lights in the parking lot. His breath is puffing out in front of him in thick white clouds, and the world looks kind of pretty through the haze, like he's some fantasy winter wonderland instead of a dirty parking lot. Snow is hardly uncommon in Colorado, and it's not something Kyle ever really pays attention to, but he suddenly wants to get up, out from under the awning, spread his arms and stand in the snowfall, tilt his head back and catch some in his mouth. But he doesn't move, because he's still a little dizzy, but mostly because, by this point, the snow is probably officially _Christmas snow_. Kyle's nose wrinkles in disdain. Maybe it was a joke, back when he was a kid, just another way he was bullied, but Kyle doesn't think he'll ever be able to let go of the belief that it's illegal for him to catch Christmas snow on his tongue.

He sinks lower into the bench, wrapping his arms around himself and tucking his hands inside his coat, pressed tight against the warmth of his sides. He feels kind of guilty again, for reasons he can't even explain; he's going to go home and get online immediately, that much he knows for sure, and even though it's not exactly possible, it feels like he planned this, like he got sick on purpose just so he could go home sooner. That's not true, Kyle doesn't even know how it could be true, unless he jabbed a finger down his throat to gag himself, but he still can't help but feel like he completely ruined this, and his parents are going to be disappointed. Again.

He feels better by the time his parents get outside, but he doesn't say anything, just plays it up the whole way home, resting his head against the cool glass of the window and trying to sleep, trying to cover up something that wasn't even his fault to begin with. He knows he's being completely ridiculous, that his parents would probably understand, but this is all he can do right now, the only guaranteed way to keep them from thinking he was just trying to escape. He loves them and he wants to spend time with them, but he wishes there was a way to do that without missing out on anything online. Or even if this hadn't been a surprise – if he'd just had a few minutes to get on and tell Toolshed what was happening, that he wouldn't be able to get online until later, maybe he would have felt better about this whole thing.

When they get home, he lets his mom fuss over him, take his temperature multiple times and give him a diet Sprite, and he doesn't even have to try to escape, because she sends him off to his room with the instructions to rest and to stay hydrated, to call her the second he runs out of Sprite. She's overreacting, she always does, but for now it works in his favor, because she'll make everyone in the house leave him alone.

There is a part of him that actually wants to sleep, but the need to talk to Toolshed, to make sure everything is okay, is way stronger. He doesn't even waste time changing clothes – just slides into his chair and starts up the game, cursing to himself as it seems to load even slower than normal. But as soon as the main town comes up, Kyle is immediately hitting the escape key, holding control+alt+delete, anything to make the game stop, because his sidebar is already telling him that Toolshed isn't online. The computer makes a loud, irritated beep and then the whole thing crashes, turning itself off, and Kyle is hitting at it maniacally, as hard as he can without breaking it, the insides rattling metallically, as if that would somehow make a difference, make it start up faster.

"_God fucking _DAMN IT_, fuck, fuck, FUCK!_"

When the computer finally grinds back to life, Kyle gets onto the forum, and there's a message waiting for him:

_So um hey. I guess you're busy or something and that's okay but like I'll be around so just send me a message and I'll check on occasion and we can just meet up later or something alright? I miss you. Which is kind of dumb I guess since like we don't know each other but dude this game isn't even worth playing without you I didn't know what to do._

The timestamp shows it was sent four hours ago, and Kyle feels an extra surge of guilt. He types up his response as fast as he can:

_Hey, I'm so, so sorry. I brought home my report card today and my parents decided to take me out to eat. But it was to this restaurant I used to love when I was like eight, and it's over an hour away, which is so stupid. But yeah, I'm sorry. It was totally a surprise, so I didn't have time to get on and let you know. But it's winter break now, so I'll have more time than ever to get on and play. So anyway, I'm here now, let me know if you get this._

_Oh, and I miss you, too. It's not dumb at all. Or if it is, then I guess I'm dumb with you._

It actually doesn't take Toolshed long to respond, which makes Kyle feel even worse, knowing that he's been refreshing the forum so frequently for four hours. His reply is short, which makes Kyle a little nervous, just a simple, '_got it. glad everything's okay. I'll be waiting by the tree._' For some reason it hadn't occurred to Kyle that Toolshed might think something serious had happened, might actually be worried. But now that he thinks about it, he knows he'd be scared out of his mind if Toolshed didn't log on when he usually does.

He logs on as quickly as he can, determined to spend the rest of the night online to make up for leaving Toolshed alone all day, for potentially scaring him. He apologizes over and over when they meet up, and he can't tell if Toolshed is mad or not, but he seems kind of distant, never responding with more than a word or two. And Kyle doesn't understand, doesn't know what else to do, because Toolshed keeps telling him it's okay, to stop apologizing, but everything feels wrong now, tense and awkward, and Kyle has a horrible feeling that they'll never be the same way again, that somehow he managed to fuck things up permanently.

His stomach churns again and he takes a couple of sips of Sprite, willing himself not to get sick again. Things aren't fucked up, because Toolshed has no reason to be mad at him; Kyle already explained what happened, and there's nothing he could have done about it. So he decides to let it go, to carry on like normal, and hopefully Toolshed will do the same.

They decide (or rather, _Kyle_ decides, and Toolshed follows along) to level for a bit, because Kyle really, really can't stand this game anymore, doesn't have the mentality for a quest or even exploring, and he hopes mindless killing will hopefully make the time go by faster, at least until Toolshed gets out of whatever slump he's in.

Any guilt or sympathy Kyle had has turned into frustration, because he's tired of trying to be chatty, only to get an '_lol_' or silence in response; he doesn't want to be in charge of fixing anything, because nothing is wrong, and Toolshed needs to get the fuck over himself, because this really isn't fun at all anymore.

The simulated violence isn't helping one bit, because it all seems so delicate and silly, no matter how ferociously Kyle bangs on his mouse. Shee'vah continues with her dainty little hand gestures, swirling her arms around before attacking, and it's not even in time with his clicks, and it's all so stupid that he can't stand it any longer.

Once the last of the monsters is dead, exploding without a trace of blood, Kyle looks up, only to see Toolshed standing there, doing nothing, not making a single effort to pick up the gold and the items that had been dropped. Kyle doesn't move either, because it's not worth it, he doesn't want any of this stuff, and he's not going to be the one to break the silence. He's tired of trying. Tired of everything. He's had a bad enough day without some asshole on the internet making it worse.

'_hey_', Toolshed says finally. Just that. And it stays there by itself long enough that Kyle wonders if it wasn't meant to be an attention-grabber, and that Toolshed really was just greeting him for some reason.

'_Hm?_' Kyle prompts, because he doesn't have the patience for this.

_okay well like…. I hate to say this but this game is really boring now._'

Kyle's pretty sure his heart literally stops for a second, and all of his frustration is forgotten and replaced with a cold dread.

"No," he whispers to himself, his voice wavering, frantic. "No, no, no…" There's nothing else he can say, nothing else can do but stare at the screen in horror, trying to make Toolshed's words mean something else. But they don't change, and their meaning remains completely clear: Toolshed is tired of this. It's over.

Kyle knew it was coming, he's known for a long time, but he's not ready. He wants to beg and plead and try to prove that the game is still cool, still worth playing, but he doesn't even know how to start when he's been feeling the same way for a long time now. All he can do is be honest, but his hands are shaking as he types out his response.

'_Yeah. I've been thinking that for awhile, too._'

And he's scared, so scared, that Toolshed's next reply will be some kind of goodbye, some kind parting words like "it was nice playing with you," and then it'd be over, and Toolshed would be gone, and Kyle would have no way of ever finding him again. And he's already wasted their last few hours together by being angry, by trying to prove for some stupid reason that he could outlast Toolshed when it came to the silent treatment, but why did any of that even matter? Toolshed is his only friend in the world, and Kyle never wants to say goodbye, never wants to see it end.

But instead, all Toolshed says is, '_hahahaha_', and Kyle's so angry, so upset, so confused that he wants to cry, and his eyes burning and he feels sick again, but to Toolshed this is all some fucking joke.

Kyle starts to type out a response, but all he manages to type is '_Listen, you asshole,_' before another line from Toolshed appears, and Kyle slams down the backspace key, deleting his words, and reads.

'_so let me get this straight. I've been tired of this for like weeks but I didn't say anything because I wanted to keep talking to you. but all this time you've been tired of it too?_'

'_Yeah,_' Kyle responds, hesitantly, because he's not sure where Toolshed is going with this. '_Because I wanted to keep talking to you._'

'_we're so fucking stupid_'

Kyle isn't sure how to feel, how he's supposed to interpret that, but he's scared to get his hopes up, scared to make any assumptions. So he just sits there, biting anxiously at his nails, his head starting to ache from the tension in his brow, and waits for Toolshed to elaborate.

'_there's no point in playing if we're both sick of it but I really don't want to lose contact with you so what kind of instant messengers do you have?_'

Kyle is equal parts thrilled and terrified, because it's one thing to talk to someone in a game, but instant messaging is something else entirely, and he knows his mom would never, _ever_ approve, but right now he's too desperate to care. Toolshed is the only person that Kyle has ever felt this connected to, the only person in the world who actually seems to like him, and now they finally have a way to talk without wasting all their time on this stupid game.

'_Um, I don't have any,_' Kyle confesses, because he's never had anyone who wanted to talk to him online before. Kids in South Park don't really do that, as far as Kyle knows. '_But I mean, I'll happily download whichever one you have._' He started not to say that, but he doesn't want Toolshed to think he was just making an excuse, trying to get out of this.

Toolshed tells him the name of one, and that his username is 'darshington', and Kyle swears to download it and add him as soon as he logs out.

'_okay_', Toolshed says, and it's another one of those terrifying moments, like having to quit after the first night they played together; the feeling that they'll never get to talk again. '_I'll talk to you soon :)_'

'_Wait,_' Kyle types more quickly than he ever thought possible, entering it before Toolshed can log off. '_If you don't hear from me in about ten minutes, then get back on the forum. Okay?_'

'_dude of course_'

They stand there for a second, silent, and Kyle realizes that Toolshed's going to let him log out first, and that seems easier somehow, less terrifying.

'_Okay. I'm really going now._'

'_haha okay_'

Kyle logs out before he can say anything else stupid, and it hits him that this was the last time they'd ever play together. It comes with a mixture of melancholy and good-fucking-riddance, but he decides not to uninstall the game, just in case they change their minds. He doesn't think that's going to happen, but it at least makes him feel a little less sad about it.

He finds the messenger without a problem and attempts to sign up, but it seems like every single username he's ever used is taken, even the most obscure ones, and he's about to just bang on the keyboard and let whatever random combination of letters that show up be his username, but he knows he won't ever remember that. He's getting desperate when he enters in 'glowing condom', and he doesn't really expect it to work, but then a _Congratulations! _page appears, welcoming him to his new messenger and giving him download instructions, and Kyle is still staring at the page in bewilderment, not quite sure if he's happy or disappointed he actually ended up with that name. It really doesn't matter, he decides, because it's not like he's going to be talking to anyone but Toolshed.

The download and installation is blessedly quick and easy, and Kyle is logged in before he knows it, and he adds darshington to his friends list. The messenger tells him he's online, and Kyle is inexplicably nervous; this is the same person he's been talking to for months, he has nothing to be afraid of, but this feels different, like he'll be talking to someone else entirely.

But he doesn't want to make Toolshed wait any longer than he has to, and so Kyle shoves his nervousness aside and double clicks Toolshed's name, types in, '_Uh, hey._'

'_OH MY GOD THAT NAME IS PERFECT!_' is Toolshed's immediate response, and all of Kyle's nervousness melts away.

'_Haha, thanks. It's the only thing I could think of. All the ones I normally use were taken._'

'_dude no seriously I love it. I'm so glad your other ones were taken._'

'_Me too,_' Kyle responds, and he's surprised to realize he actually means it. He thinks all he was worried about was logging in and Toolshed thinking it's stupid, that the joke got old a long time ago.

They fall into silence, and it's suddenly painfully awkward, because they never really talked about anything outside of _RPG: The RPG_. Despite spending months together, they don't really know each other at all, and Kyle isn't exactly sure how to proceed. But he doesn't have to think of anything, because suddenly the messenger informs him that Toolshed is typing, and that's definitely an improvement from the RPG chat.

'_so uh I'm Stan. you?_'

A smile breaks onto Kyle's face, and he's so happy to have a real name think of instead of just Toolshed, and somehow it's just the kind of name he's always imagined. Stan. It just feels right, perfect, and it's not hard at all to make the transition.

'_I'm Kyle._'

There's another long stretch of silence, and then, '_wait wait wait. girl Kyle or boy Kyle?_'

Maybe it's a sign Kyle is taking this too seriously, but he's suddenly terrified all over again. It had never even crossed his mind before, but he's been playing as a girl character – what if all this time Stan thought he had been hanging out with a girl? No wonder he'd been so nice, so considerate of Kyle's feelings. No wonder he'd invested so much time in their friendship, taking the initiative and sending PMs, always so determined to keep in contact; he probably thought he'd found some perfect girl, a girl that's interested in guy things, a girl who is just as gross and perverted as he is.

Kyle drops his head into his hands, tangling his fingers in his hair, and he suddenly feels shittier than he has in a long time. He thought he'd finally made a friend who liked him for who he is, but for this to be the first question Stan asked – that must mean it's the most important thing, the thing that their whole relationship has hinged on. Kyle is almost tempted to lie, because he doesn't know what he'll do if he and Stan stop talking, because it's been such a constant part of his life for three months now. But just for once, he wants someone to like him just the way he is, no lies, no hiding aspects of his personality.

He looks back up at Stan's words, weighing his options, and before he has a chance to change his mind, he types, '_Boy Kyle. Sorry, I should have said something sooner._'

Stan starts typing again, and it feels like it takes forever, but when the words finally appear Kyle lets out a heavy sigh of relief. '_no dude it's fine. that's what I thought. just checking._'

They're silent again, and Kyle slumps back in his chair, exhausted from his mood swinging from one extreme to the other all day. He picks up his cup to take another drink, but he ends up just holding it and chewing on the rim, the feeling of the plastic weakening and slowly breaking away oddly comforting. He only has the chat open, doesn't care enough to open his browser and distract himself with the internet, and he stares at it, zoning out, waiting for something else to happen.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, hardly moving, but the rim of the cup is pulled away and broken, an end of it sticking up at an awkward angle, and Kyle has moved to gnawing on that by the time Stan types, '_uh so. I don't know what to say haha I'm bad at conversation I guess._'

'_Me too. I mean, I want to get to know you, but I don't know where to start._'

'_um well I'm 13 and I'm going into high school next year which is kind of scary I guess. what about you?_'

'_Dude, same here._' It's a lot more fascinating than it should be, and maybe that's just because Kyle doesn't usually have this kind of luck at all. Judging by the way things usually go, Stan should be some fifty year old creep living in his parents' basement. Or some five year old. Not someone who's exactly Kyle's age.

'_seriously? cool_'

Kyle doesn't have anything else to say, because this is so awkward, so _forced_, but he doesn't want to sit in silence again. '_So._' He enters that, hoping it'll prompt Stan to say something else. When it doesn't, he adds, '_I don't know, uh. What do you do for fun?_' It's a lame attempt, and he half-expects Stan to make fun of him for it, make up some bullshit about poetry and long walks on the beach, but Stan spends awhile typing, apparently taking the question seriously.

'_well internet obviously haha. I watch a lot of tv and play video games pretty typical stuff. I've played football throughout middle school so I guess you could say that's my only physical hobby. um that's about it I guess. I'm hoping to play football in high school too but it's not like my passion or anything so I don't know._'

An athlete. Of course. Nothing like Kyle at all, besides the whole internet and video game thing, but they're probably in two very different social groups. Meaning, Stan might actually _have_ a social group.

'_Oh, that's cool,_' Kyle responds, feigning interest. '_I play a lot of video games, too. I'm not really that into sports. I played basketball for awhile in elementary school, but I didn't really feel like I was built for it, so I quit. I guess I'm kind of a nerd. I actually like studying._'

'_I mean like I didn't think it was possible for anyone to actually enjoy that but dude that's kind of awesome,_' Stan responds. '_I bet your grades are amazing._'

Kyle really isn't sure how to truthfully respond to that without sounding like an arrogant asshole, but he has to say something, so he settles with, '_Yeah, they're okay, I guess._'

They don't talk again for another half hour, and this time the silence is only broken when Stan says he's really tired and that he's going to go to bed. He logs off pretty quickly, which is probably a good thing, because it keeps Kyle from saying anything stupid, like asking if he'll be on again tomorrow. Honestly, Kyle won't be surprised if he never hears from him again, because this didn't exactly go well. And considering the fact that they usually stay up much later than this together – and Kyle is usually the first one to go to bed – it seems like Stan logged off just to get away from him.

Kyle can definitely understand that, because he was tempted to flee himself, but he still fully intends to log on again tomorrow, just in case. But he thinks there's a part of him that might be relieved if they don't get to talk again; this was awkward to the point of painful, and Kyle can't imagine it getting any better. Apparently they just have nothing to say to each other without the RPG as a catalyst.

It's only 1:00, which is way too early for bed by Kyle's usual standards, but he suddenly can't think of anything else to do. He can't even remember what he did online before he got sucked into the RPG, how he managed to spend all day on the computer before he met Stan. Opening his browser and letting a page load still seems like too much effort, and despite the feeling that this is fundamentally wrong, he turns his computer off and decides to go to bed. He probably needs the rest anyway, after the day he's had.

He's kind of surprised that he doesn't have any trouble at all falling asleep, and he actually wakes up at a decent time the next day, early enough to eat a small breakfast without ruining lunch, which is something he hasn't been able to do in a long time. It's kind of nice, and his mom is proud of him, and he thinks maybe he should try to make a habit out of it. Maybe if he doesn't hear from Stan again, he'll actually make a stab at it.

Thinking about Stan kind of scares him, because he's been avoiding the computer since he woke up, telling himself that it's too early for Stan to be online. He thought he'd managed to let go of his strange attachment to Stan after their failed attempt at a conversation, and he wants to keep feeling that way, just in case Stan has given up on him. But the fact is that no matter how content Kyle is right now, flipping distractedly through the channels as his mom works on a crossword puzzle beside him, he needs more than just his family. He needs a friend, and Stan is the only one he has right now. Maybe. Unless Stan is done with him. As long as Kyle stays away from the computer, he can keep pretending that everything's okay, but he's going to have to deal with it sooner or later.

Probably sooner, because it's already after noon, which means there's a chance Stan might be online now.

He tosses the remote aside, because there's seriously nothing on, and he stands up, stretching dramatically.

"Computer time?" his mom asks, not looking up from her crossword.

"I guess," Kyle responds. "There's nothing on, so…"

She looks up at him and smiles, tucking her pencil behind her ear. "Thank you for staying out of your room today. We miss seeing you, bubbie."

"Yeah." It's uncomfortable suddenly, and Kyle's more than ready to hide away upstairs. "I'm trying to work on that."

"You're such a good boy." She turns her attention back to her crossword and Kyle runs up the stairs before she has a chance to change her mind and say something else.

Once he's safe on the landing, he takes his time getting to his room, walking with forced casualness, even stopping to straighten a picture frame, lets himself into his room and closes the door gently behind him. He eases delicately into his chair, shifting around and making himself comfortable before he even turns the computer on. He checks his Facebook first thing, planning to sort through the notifications that had no doubt stacked up, but he doesn't have any at all. Not even from Ike, who usually pities him enough to send a game request every now and then.

He skims through his newsfeed, even though he couldn't care less about what all these people are up to, but something still keeps him from removing them from his friends. It might have something to do with the fact that, if he actually removed everyone he didn't care about, everyone he isn't actually friends with, he'd be stuck with his parents and Ike. And maybe Kenny, depending on his mood. But probably not. They still haven't really talked since the whole incident (if not returning a phone call can be referred to as an _incident_, but Kyle doesn't know what else to call it), and if Kyle is ever going to drop all pretenses and delete everyone, he might as well get rid of Kenny, too.

There's nothing left to do, nothing else to distract himself with without being too obvious – although he doesn't know who he's trying to convince. But he reluctantly opens up the messenger and signs in, only to find out Stan isn't online at all. He's not sure if he should be disappointed or not; it still might be a little early for Stan, or maybe he's not out of school for winter yet. Maybe Kyle should have asked about that.

Even though he's had all night to think about it, Kyle hasn't come up with anything that could make a conversation with Stan today be any easier. He usually doesn't talk to people, unless he's telling them to fuck off, so saying he's out of practice is a bit of an understatement. At least now he has the winter break thing to use as a conversation starter, even though it's pretty much a yes or no question, but maybe Stan will decide to elaborate on his plans or something. Or if he's not out of school yet, Kyle will gladly listen to him complain about how unfair it is that Kyle's already on break while he's not. It doesn't matter; Kyle's up for anything as long as it gets them talking.

It's hours before Stan actually gets online, the sun already setting and casting Kyle's room in an orange glow. It never takes Stan this long, and now Kyle is certain Stan's been avoiding him, but that's not exactly something he can ask about. But they talk, and it's worse than it was last night, because they exchange '_hey_'s, and that's all there is to say.

Kyle distracts himself as much as he can, watching stupid videos and reading random articles, things that barely stick in his mind, and it's not until an hour later that he remembers that he was going to ask Stan if he's still in school. But when he switches back over to the chat window, Stan is offline – gone without saying a word.

Kyle stares at the chat box blankly, stuck somewhere between hurt and anger. He gets it, in a way: this is weird and tense and uncomfortable and maybe not even worth the effort, but as far as he's concerned that doesn't give Stan an excuse to just leave without saying anything, without even trying. That's all it takes for anger to take over, dousing out the flickers of hurt, and Kyle exits the chat with more force than necessary, banging on his mouse, and he shoves away from the computer and stands uselessly in the middle of the room, his insides buzzing with a suffocating energy.

He's not sure why he's so worked up about this, why he even cares this much, but it shouldn't be this fucking difficult to sit down and talk to someone for a little while, especially someone he's been dealing with every single day for the past three months.

Kyle doesn't get online at all the next day as some irrational form of revenge. He spends the majority of the day sitting on the floor at the end of his bed, his head resting back on the mattress, squinting up at the TV screen and trying to lose himself in video games. None of them are really holding his attention, and he switches games about every thirty minutes, but it doesn't matter, because he has something to prove. He's not exactly sure what that something is, but it means avoiding Stan longer than Stan can avoid him.

The following day he and Stan are both on in the late afternoon, and Kyle is still feeling a little edgy, and he doesn't want to be the one to go crawling back to Stan to try to set things right. So he says nothing, waiting for Stan to message him first, because somehow or another this is all Stan's fault and he should be the one trying to fix it.

It takes Stan two fucking hours to speak up, and Kyle is considering just logging out and giving up for good when the message pops up.

'_Kyle?_'

He almost logs out anyway, just out of spite, but he's still hoping for an apology; he wants to watch Stan struggle through it, fishing for the right words, making a fool of himself. Kyle wouldn't help him out – he'd just sit there and smile to himself, reveling in Stan's discomfort until he finally decided to end it. So he responds, just for that reason.

'_Oh, hey._'

There's a long pause, and Kyle rolls his eyes, letting out a frustrated groan. Here they go again – two lines of text only to be followed by hours of silence. But then Stan is typing again, and Kyle lifts an eyebrow, surprised. Maybe spending a day avoiding Stan completely did the trick after all.

'_dude what are we doing?_'

'_What do you mean?_'

'_I don't know…. just it was so much easier to talk in the rpg but now it's like I don't know_'

That just about sums it up, Kyle thinks. Now things are _I don't know_, and neither of them know what it is or how to fix it. Something about that makes Kyle feel a little better, because Stan suddenly seems less malicious, more confused and frustrated. And Kyle no longer wants to watch him squirm; he wants them to talk their way through this, because dammit they have so much fun together when they're not trapped behind a wall of awkwardness.

'_I don't know,_' Kyle echoes, for lack of anything better. '_I mean, I like you, but I have nothing to say to you._'

He realizes belatedly that that was probably a bit harsh, and it takes Stan a full minute to respond with a simple, '_ha. yeah_'

'_I didn't mean that the way it sounded._'

'_I know it's okay don't worry_'

'_So,_' Kyle says, after a pause. '_Are you on winter break yet?_'

'_yesterday was my last day_'

'_Oh, sweet._'

At least now Kyle can honestly say he tried. And he's all out of ideas, so if Stan has nothing else to say, it's not Kyle's problem.

'_so hey do you have any plans?_'

Kyle blinks at the screen in surprise. '_Um, plans for what?_'

'_Christmas dude_'

'_Oh haha. Not for Christmas, no._' Kyle doesn't really feel like elaborating, because the last thing he wants is to give Stan a reason to make fun of him, to realize there's something wrong with him.

'_what? nothing at all?_'

'_Um, I'm planning on sleeping, if that counts._'

'_dude :(_'

This is suddenly turning uncomfortable, and Kyle scrambles for something to take the attention off of himself. '_I'm guessing you have plans?_'

'_haha not amazing ones. we're probably just staying home and opening presents or something idk_'

Kyle feels an odd pang of longing, because even though he gets presents during Hanukkah, it doesn't seem nearly as special and magical as waking up one morning, a thick blanket of Christmas snow on the ground, and gathering around a gently glowing tree, opening boxes upon boxes. A fire crackling in the fireplace, everyone smiling and happy and cozy. Or maybe that's just the glamorized version that's advertised to the world, but he can't help but want to experience it anyway.

'_That sounds nice,_' he says sincerely.

'_I guess yeah. at least we won't have to like leave or anything. but ugh my mom is probably going to make me go shopping or something_'

That, at least, is one aspect Kyle will never be jealous of. '_That sucks,_' he types, just as there's a gentle knock at his door. He flails around in a panic, minimizing the chat as quickly as he can, only to realize he had closed his browser when he and Stan started talking, and if that doesn't look suspicious, he doesn't know what does – just sitting up here for hours, apparently staring at his desktop.

His heart is pounding as the door creaks open and his mom pokes her head in, telling him to come down for dinner. Either she doesn't notice or she doesn't care that he seems to be doing absolutely nothing, but she doesn't comment on it, just ducks right back out of the room, which is more than Kyle could have hoped for. Still, he makes a mental note to at least have his browser open, maybe on Facebook or something, just to keep up appearances.

He waits until he hears his mom's footsteps fading down the stairs before he brings the chat back up. Stan hasn't said anything else, but Kyle really didn't give him anything to respond to, so he's not horribly concerned about it. Things seem different now – like they made it some checkpoint in a video game. Their progress is saved, they never have to go back to hours of not saying a single word to each other.

'_Ugh, I have to go,_' Kyle types. '_Dinner._'

'_okay. will you be on tomorrow?_'

He actually intended to get back on as soon as he was finished, but he's pretty sure this was Stan's way of saying he's through talking for the night. '_Yeah, of course._'

They say their goodbyes, which is somehow the most awkward part of the night, something about the obligatory '_I'll talk to you later_'s and the abundance of '_okay_'s make Kyle a little uncomfortable. But it doesn't matter. They'll get better at this; they _are_ getting better at this. Within a week or so, they probably won't be able to stop talking to each other, and then they'll have nearly two full weeks to spend as much time together as they want.

Things can only go up from here.


End file.
